The Tether

October 18. 2025

I was talking with a friend the other day, and somehow, he came up.

I told her that sometimes I feel like there’s an invisible pull between us still—an unseen thread I can’t quite shake.

I’ve felt this kind of thing before, with someone I had a significant but unhealthy attachment to. We’d go months without speaking, and then, out of nowhere, he’d flood my mind. Within a week, like clockwork, he’d reappear in my life.

I feel something similar now, but this time it’s different.

It’s not a premonition of him showing up.

It’s more like a swirl—his energy moving through my brain in flashes of tension and anxiety,

mixed with a strange longing that doesn’t have a resolution.

I know I write about him often, but that’s my release.

I write, and it leaves my body.

This is different—more cosmic, more woo.

Especially since I haven’t spoken to him in months.

And I’ve made so much progress—processing, integrating, loving myself deeply.

I am healthy. Whole. Grounded in my next chapter.

Still, there’s this hum in the background.

Sometimes louder than others.

My friend—someone who doesn’t know him well, but knows enough to read his patterns—listened quietly then said something that made me stop.

“Well,” she said, “he’s a vampire. One who needs constant supply—especially high-quality supply. You were one of the highest-quality ones he’s ever had. And you got away. And you’re not staying quiet about his fangs and his thirst for blood. I bet he’s watching you.”

That made me pause.

Is he?

I used to see signs of it—on Facebook, in little digital ripples that felt too pointed to be coincidence. But now that he’s blocked me (and I’ve blocked him back so he can’t sneak in), I can’t technically know.

Sometimes I wonder if he’s read my blog—if he’s scrolled through the words I’ve written, trying to understand what parts of himself I’ve seen and what parts I've shared.

There were times when I hoped he had—especially when I wrote letters directly to him.

But I had no clue and no way to tell.

Sometimes the tether that never got proper closure still sparks—overcharged by his curiosity or maybe my intuition.

But if he ever truly wanted to talk to me, he could.

He could pick up the phone.

He could knock on my door.

And honestly, I don’t think it would be as terrible as he probably imagines.

But that would take a level of vulnerability and emotional courage not everyone has cultivated. It would also mean facing the shame.

Or maybe it’s just energy doing what energy does: resisting the fade.

And maybe I'm not ready for it to fade.